


a promise kept

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Chapter and Verse (Varric Tethras x Min Hawke) [12]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age Quest: All That Remains, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 02:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15742008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: Varric made himself a promise, once: that he would do anything for Hawke.  But Leandra Hawke goes missing, and Varric realizes that a promise made to oneself is too easily broken.





	a promise kept

Once, long ago, Varric promised himself he’d do anything for Hawke. **  
**

He didn’t remember the exact circumstances of this promise.  Maybe it was after she spun a web of lies for the templar guard so intricate it made him dizzy; you had to admire that kind of skill, one artist to another.  Or maybe it was after just another nameless night in his quarters in the Hanged Man, Isabela and Hawke both down to their smallclothes (Isabela by choice, Hawke by means of being terrible at Wicked Grace).  She’d been beautiful and half-naked, sure, but it was the sheepish yet confident grin that had his heart pounding.

Maybe that wasn’t it, though.  Maybe it was after she threw a well-aimed dagger at Bartrand, locking the door on them in the Deep Roads.  The dagger bounced harmlessly off the stone with a clatter, but damn it, the thought was there.  

Maybe it was after Sunshine started coughing there in the stone and the dark, when the look in Hawke’s eyes scared him so much he didn’t think he could bear to see it again.

Whenever it was, it was a promise he’d lived by a long time.  Turned out, though, promises just weren’t good enough.

 

* * *

 

It smelled like lilies.  It smelled like something rotting.  His boots were covered in dust, dotted with blood.  Where was Leandra Hawke?

He was afraid he already knew, but he couldn’t let Hawke think this shit.  Couldn’t bear to say what they all were thinking, not unless it was really true.  He glanced at Aveline.  She wore fear and fury like a second skin.

Blondie reached out, brushed Hawke’s shoulder, his hand lingering.  She leaned into his touch, but Varric could see that she trembled.

Stupid words came out of Varric’s mouth.  “We’re going to find her, Hawke.”  She stared at him with wide, pleading eyes.  “We’re gonna get this asshole.  He doesn’t want to hurt her.  She’s fine.”

He’d never felt so ashamed of lying.

 

* * *

 

Bianca still vibrated in Varric’s arms; blood rushed in his ears.  The Orlesian gurgled around the arrow in his throat, slumping to the ground in front of them.  

Varric swallowed.  “What?” he said, taking deep breaths.  Hawke was pale and silent.  “You were going to do that, right?”

She nodded, her mouth a thin, terrified line.  Her eyes flicked to where the necromancer stood, and in that moment they both saw it: the flash of a white wedding gown, the shift of a grey hand.

Fuck.

 

* * *

 

Anders held Hawke, and she held her mother, and Aveline knelt beside them, murmuring something of the Chant beneath her breath.

Hawke didn’t hear it, though.  Her cries were so –

Varric found himself on his knees, too.  Didn’t remember getting there.  But his hands lay uselessly on his lap, spread open, unable to fix a damn thing.  

He’d never heard Hawke like this before.  Never heard anyone like this, really, raw keening wails, gulping for breath, wordless grief so fierce it tore at his belly like an animal.  They’d been too late.  They could have saved her.  What the hell were his contacts  _for_  if not for this shit?  His people should have heard something, they should have taken it more seriously, they could have kept all of this from happening.  Leandra would have been fine, and Hawke would have been fine, too –

Anders cradled her, rocked her in his arms, and Aveline stroked her hair, and Varric knelt behind them, Bianca forgotten beside him.

At last he got to his feet.  Shuffled forward, acutely aware that nothing he could do could fix this.  No lies.  No coin.  No favors.  There was just Leandra laying there, monstrous and beautiful both.

Varric pulled off his leather coat, his movements stiff and clumsy.  It wasn’t long enough, of course.  But maybe –

He placed it carefully over Leandra.  Aveline realized what he was doing and helped, wrapping the sleeves around her, pulling the collar up.  Like that, she didn’t look so  _wrong_ , the ghostly white shroud now mostly covered, the brown leather hiding the worst of the stitches and bruising.  

“Thank you,” said Hawke, her voice thick.

“I’m sorry,” said Varric, and it was nothing like enough.

 

* * *

 

Varric never wanted to think of their procession out of the foundry again; a slow, limping affair.  Anders gently carried Leandra in Varric’s jacket, his eyes red and puffy, his jaw tight.  Aveline laid one strong arm over Hawke’s shoulders, keeping her moving forward despite Hawke’s erratic, stumbling steps.

And Varric walked with Hawke too, her hand clutching his as if she would never let go, gripping so hard his palm throbbed.  He would have liked that, once upon a time in a world where things weren’t total shit.  Now, though, it was the only lifeline he could throw her, and it was so fucking inadequate he could cry.  

He did, silently, his eyes burning in the dark. It didn’t help for shit.

He kept his aching hand in hers through the Foundry district, through Lowtown, through the lamplit streets of her neighborhood.  It was all he could do.

 

* * *

 

The next day Varric stood at the front door of the Hawke estate, uncomfortable in his second-best coat.  He’d never bothered to wear the leather in very well.  The elbows and shoulders were far too stiff.

Orana let him, her face blotchy from crying.  She ushered him into the front room, where he nodded to Bodahn and Sandal.  They were both as grim as Varric had ever seen them.  “It’s so terrible, Master Tethras,” whispered Orana.  “Mistress Leandra – I can’t believe it.”

“I know,” he said.  What else could he say?  

He took the stairs to Hawke’s room.  He wasn’t even sure she would want to see him.  Maybe it would just make her think of everything in that terrible place all over again, bring it back even more painfully.  Before he could second-guess himself, the bedroom door opened.

“Varric,” said Hawke.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

She ushered him in, still wearing most of yesterday’s clothes, her hair in tangles.  Her eyes were so swollen that she looked ill.  She sat down on the bed and leaned against Molossus, shoulders slumping as the enormous dog laid his head in her lap.  She nodded at a spot beside her.  “If you want to sit,” she said uncertainly.

“All right,” he said.  It took him a moment to clamber onto her bed: a stupidly fancy four-poster, it was inordinately tall.  Normally he’d have spit out three jokes about humans and their tallness in the time it took him to climb up, but he kept quiet.  He finally situated himself next to her, his booted feet dangling well above the floor.

He gazed at his hands.  Remembered how useless they’d been last night.

“Min…” he began.

“Can I – is it all right if I –”  Hawke raised her arms toward him, new tears bright in her eyes.  Molossus whined, lifting his head from her lap and laying it down on her pillow instead.

“Of course,” Varric said hastily, pulling her into a rough embrace.  “Of course, Min.”

“I couldn’t save her,” Hawke mumbled in his ear, her cheek damp against his.  “I tried so hard, Varric, and I was too late.”

“You did everything you could.  Don’t you ever doubt that,” he said sharply.  “I should have heard something about this guy.  Should have put my people on it long before it ever got to –”

“No, no, don’t do that,” she scolded, attempting half a chuckle.  “We just – we didn’t know, did we?”  And then she was weeping hard again, words suddenly beyond her, and he held her close, kept her as safe as he could.  But how did you protect someone from their grief?  He didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  His cheeks were wet.  The tears weren’t from Hawke alone.

“Me too,” she breathed, quieting a little.  “It keeps coming on and off like that, in waves.  It was the same for Father, and Carver.  Of course, things are sort of… different, with Mum, aren’t they?  It was such an awful – never mind.  I can’t think about that right now, not again.”  She took in a long breath.  “It meant so much, that you gave her a little dignity.  I know you loved that coat.”

“Ahh, that ratty old thing?  I’ve been eyeing an upgrade for months anyway,” Varric replied lightly before he could stop himself.  He flushed.  “Shit.  I didn’t mean to joke.  Force of habit.”

Hawke snorted through a stuffy nose, lifting her head and gazing fondly at him.  “Don’t you think I could use a bit of a joke right now?” she asked, her voice still quavery.  She tried a smile on.  It didn’t look exactly natural, but it looked better than the haze of grief she had been wearing a few moments before.  “Please, be you, won’t you?  It helps.”

“As usual, the ladies can’t resist the Tethras charm,” he attempted.  His tone was all wrong, and the delivery was weak, but despite that she still gave him a watery smile.  It was almost more than he could bear.

“There’s my favorite dwarf,” she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder again.  They held each other, and Varric closed his eyes, feeling her breathe against him.

He thought of the promise he’d made to himself, long ago.  But that wasn’t strong enough, apparently.  He’d managed to break it.

“Hawke,” he said.  “I would do  _anything_  for you.  I mean it.  That’s a promise.”

He meant it more than anything he’d ever said.

“Thank you, Varric,” she murmured.  Her arms around him tightened, clinging to him as if she thought he could keep her from drowning.  

Shit.  Maybe he could.


End file.
